


You Skate Or You Die, Dude.

by illiadus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Skateboarders, Character Death, Copious use of the word 'dude', Eventual smut/romance, F/F, F/M, Follows Canon, Humour, M/M, Modern Era, Multi-chaptered fic, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Slow Build, Some sexual junk at some point, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:56:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1887453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illiadus/pseuds/illiadus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a Tumblr text post.</p><p>Westeros is a city filled with scum, salacious secrets, and skateboarders. Kings and queens, dudes and dealers, skaters, junkies and righteous teens… All will play the Game of Thrashin’. And when you play the Game of Thrashin’, you skate or you die, dude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Au Revoir Arryn

**Author's Note:**

> So, here is my first-ever ASoIaF fic! Hope you enjoy this, and I shall be updating it soon.  
> This chapter is kind of lame but I promise it will pick up the pace in the following installments;  
> Any feedback is appreciated, stay radical dudes.
> 
> Also just NB, I plan on keeping the events of this fic pretty close to canon but in this chapter I've substituted Rhaegar's relationship with Lyanna to Aerys/Lyanna, just to make things a little less weird and complex in modern terms.

Ned was woken up at three am by a text. His phone buzzed obnoxiously from his nightstand where it was charging, and he unceremoniously grunted before flopping over and reaching for it. He scarcely used his phone really, and the only evidence that he had ever taken it out of his room was the scuff marks from all the times it had dropped out of his pocket mid-trick and the customised background wallpaper, a cute but fairly cheesy selfie of him and his girlfriend Cat, now obscured by the mocking little bubble of text.

 **RECEIVED (3:02) Rob Baratheon:** Yo Ned, are you up?

Ned grimaced uneasily. Him and Robert Baratheon had been the best of friends before they had started their junior year in high school, but since then Robert had got mixed up in a bad crowd, started drinking in a serious way, and gone steady with Cersei Lannister. Before they were sixteen, they were inseparable. Him, Rob and their friend Jon Arryn who was their senior by a year, had spent almost every day in the skatepark, doing dumb tricks and ripping on each other. After they started high school, things began to change. Robert had started dating Ned’s elder sister Lyanna which was weird in itself, but then ugly rumours about previous king of the Westeros Skatepark Aerys Targaryens and her had emerged and all proven true.

The man Ned remembered as having the blondest hair he had ever seen and being the most depraved rapist bastard he had ever met also, ended up in state penitentiary for what he had done to Lyanna and his family considered permanently banished from ever gracing the rails of WSP again, but the damage was done. Lyanna moved out of the city with the eldest Stark child Brandon for college as soon as she could; Aerys’ girlfriend at the time Elia Martell ended up in a far-off boarding school after the whole ordeal drove her to depression and drugs, and Robert became the new King. He was a good enough skater, although didn’t have the natural grace of Jaime Lannister or the terrifying brute strength of Sandor Clegane, he was highly skilled nonetheless; and also used to be charming, good-looking and kind.

Ned distanced himself little by little from the cesspool which was becoming of his local skatepark, now only using his board when he needed to travel fast around the city of Westeros. Gone were the times when it was a lighthearted place to be with his friends, what used to be his world was now a constant power-struggle between the people who resided there; although he lived in a borough called Winterfell, a long way from the skate park of King’s Landing, so it wasn’t difficult to put that distance between their worlds.

He debated internally for a little longer before replying.

 **OUTGOING (3:04) Rob Baratheon:** Yeah man, what’s up?

His phone beeped seconds later.

 **RECEIVED (3:05) Rob Baratheon:** Not good shit, brah. It’s Arryn.

They never made a habit of calling him ‘Jon’, considering there was already a number of them around the place: Jon Umber, a gigantic nineteen-year-old who lived only a few blocks from Ned and could bomb any hill of any height fearlessly, and Jon Snow. A boy of sixteen who had long wild hair and serious dark eyes, who would often forgo his turn at the half-pipe in favour of spreading spray-paint across the skate hut.

 **OUTGOING (3:05) Rob Baratheon:** What do you mean?

 **RECEIVED (3:05) Rob Baratheon:** Come hospital on Lannisport Street.

The fog of days past quickly cleared from Ned’s mind as panic began to form in it’s stead. He got out of bed at breakneck speed and pulled some jeans which had probably been due for a wash a few days ago over the boxers he had worn to bed. He deemed the old Santa Cruz shirt he had on as passable and tore out of his room, sending two texts as he pulled on his sneakers.

 **OUTGOING (3:06) Rob Baratheon:** on my way.

 **OUTGOING (3:06) Benjen:** Going to hospital, Arryn in trouble. Tell mom not to panic if I’m not home by morning.

The moment the second text to his little brother beeped in confirmation of it’s sending, Ned grabbed his board and headed out the front door into the unknown. He set off at a pace which would usually scare him, but right now he was too close to panic to consider the danger of the speed he was tearing down the streets.

He was by The Twins borough before he paid any attention to the freezing night air lancing down his bare forearms, and cursed himself for not bothering to get a jacket before he began his trip. Hanging a sheer right which almost cost him his balance, Ned swiftly began to move through Riverrun, sparing a thought for Cat as he passed through her neighbourhood. He and Cat had started dating just over a year ago now, and he was still thoroughly crazy about her. She was kind and funny and above all else levelheaded, she wouldn’t have let him go rushing out without at least a sweater.

The added wind chill from the velocity Ned had accumulated was beginning to make him shiver, teeth chattering against one another viciously as he coasted the last three turns down to Lannisport Hospital. He considered himself lucky there was so little traffic, right now his mind was furiously compartmentalizing and had no time for car-dodging.

What is Jon isn’t okay?

Keep weight centred

Wish Cat was here

Next turn on the left

What do I even do when I get there?

Ned had no time to muse on the last question as he kickflipped onto the kerb and tried to kill his speed to the degree that he wouldn’t end up a greasespot on the hospital parking lot. He just about pulled it off, grabbing his board and jogging into the reception.

 

It was an awful contrast, the muted colours and fast pace of the outdoors compared to the stark interior of the hospital. The waiting room was crowded and raucous, but it didn’t take Ned long to scope out Robert. He had put on a lot of weight since their youth, and Ned could imagine he probably had some trouble grinding rails with a gut like that. His eyes looked more jaded than they ever had, and he had a decent amount of straggly facial hair forming a dirty-looking beard. Ned wended his way over, bracing himself for the worst; he could tell from the other side of the room by his slumped stature that Robert was drunk.

“Rob?” He ventured cautiously once he was within earshot. “Ned! Ed! Good old Eddy.” Robert slurred, words sprawling over each other as he spoke. His eyes were bloodshot and his face a ruddy hue of red. “Arryn, our Arry. He’s in trouble dude. Real big trouble.” His voice wavered into what could have been a sob. Ned did feel sympathy for his estranged best friend; Jon had been his rock since Ned had decided to keep to himself in the northern boroughs. In his heart he knew it was a little selfish but he had grown weary of Robert’s escapades and the stresses of other skaters nipping at his heels in terms of proficiency. Not to mention he could barely stomach any of the Lannisters, who had spread their influence over King’s Landing skate park like a plague.

Ned sat himself down besides Robert and rubbed his shoulder amicably. “What happened man? Talk me through everything.” Robert pulled himself together a little and began to talk. “Well, we were all hanging around Casterly Rock y’know, so we went to this party near where Cers lives, and she ended up leaving early with her brother, the dumb tall one… So I was getting on nicely with this chick, absolutely stunning ass,” Ned had to roll his eyes a little at that, even after all their time apart and in such a dire situation, Robert was still a total letch. “..but then, some dudes run in, saying that Arryn is ODing or some shit, and I’m like oh shit man, ‘cause after we all started drifting apart he found his poison and it was something pretty ugly. And I went in there and ODing he was, then someone called an ambulance and I rode along.. And now I’m here. And you’re here.”  

Ned nodded slowly. “What was he on?”

Robert rolled his shoulders in a half-shrug. “Oxy maybe? I don’t know man, that Lysa bitch had access to all kinds of crazy meds and I’m pretty sure he tried them all.”  
Ned remembered with a start that Jon had been dating Catelyn’s sister for about six months now. It was easily overlooked, with Ned’s endeavours to remain away from the south end of the city and Catelyn’s tenuous relationship with her sister, suffice to say the couple rarely came up in conversation.

“Shit, yeah.. Any word from the doctors?” Ned asked gently, not wanting to antagonize or upset Robert when he was in a state like this. He only hiccuped a little before shaking his head. “Nothing. I keep asking ‘em, but they walk too fast for me to get their attention really.”

Ned pursed his lips. “Yeah, that’s rough buddy.” He slid his phone out of his pocket to check the time. The dim screen read almost four o’clock in the morning, and he had two unread texts.

 **RECEIVED (3:05) Benjen:** Yh sure dude, hmu if he isn’t ok x

Ned smiled at that message, it was nice to know that even with his other siblings scattered up north and far from the city of Westeros that his little brother still had his back. Benjen was a good kid, less of a skater and more into a weird collective called The Night’s Watch. Ned saw their tag around a fair amount, they were a small-scale gang, mostly involved in the local music scene; nothing too likely to get his brother spirited away from him like Lyanna and Brandon.

 **RECEIVED (3:44) Cat <3:** Hey, Lysa said that Jon Arryn’s been taken to hospital, remember to take a sweater for the skate down, you idiot. Stay safe + I love you x x x

Ned’s smile could only broaden at that. He replied quickly to both texts.

 **OUTGOING (3:58) Benjen:** will do little bro, it isn’t looking so good right now tho x

 **OUTGOING (3:59) Cat <3:** I’m there now with Robert, you were right about the sweater thing. I’m an idiot. Promise I’ll be careful, and I love you too :) <3

He quickly re-focused on the issue at hand. Initially Ned had assumed it was just some skating-related injury, a fractured leg or cracked rib, but now he felt dread crackling through his bones like a burning itch that he just couldn’t scratch. The pair sat in silence, neither in much of a mood for small talk, letting the hustle and chaos of the waiting room whirl around them whilst they remained in a reality beyond.

It could have been an hour or ten minutes later that a solemn-faced man in a white coat approached them with the heavy footsteps of a man jaded by the turmoil and tragedy that came with working in a hospital.

“Are you young men friends of Mr Arryn?” He asked in a dour tone.  
Robert nodded fervently, shaken from his stupor and Ned concurred. “Yes, we are. Is he..?” He couldn’t bear to finish the sentence when he saw how quickly the stony face twisted into a frown.  
“I’m very sorry, Mr..?”

“Stark. Call me Ned.” He could hear his voice, but it sounded like it was at the other end of an infinitely long tunnel, and all that could reach him were the muted echoes of his words. “Mr Stark, I’m afraid Jon hasn’t pulled through.” Robert just hung his head and tried to sob quietly, Ned nodded, guilt flooding his lungs like cold water. Perhaps if he had stuck around in King’s Landing, put up with all the bullshit, he could have changed Arryn’s fate. He could still faintly hear the doctor talking above the roar in his ears, the overpowering fluids of grief and shame stampeding in his skull like reckless beasts.

“..A fatal amount of methadone was consumed along with copious amount of alcohol, and I’m afraid his liver simply could not take the strain.”

“Would he have been in pain?” Robert blurted out, voice ragged and head still buried in his hands.  
The doctor hesitated before his reply. “No, I seriously doubt he was.”  
Robert shuddered, in relief this time rather than distress, and continued to cry quietly. Ned could feel his eyes glazing, he was eighteen years old now and a man grown but he refused to be ashamed of shedding a few tears over one of his childhood best friends dying so prematurely and in such a tragic way.

Ned swallowed hard, the lump that had formed just above his adam’s apple choking him but not dislodged. “Could we.. See him?” He asked, voice rasping as his throat constricted even further. The doctor’s face softened, if only for a moment, his stern brows melting into an expression of pity. “If you think you can, you would be welcome to. We will also need contact information so we can tell his family what has happened.” Ned nodded blankly, and followed the doctor further into the hospital, the glare of white walls and sharp scent of disinfectant making his mind reel and eyes water even more. He led Robert along by the hand, his fingers crushed by the vice-like grip that Robert was maintaining. Ned didn’t mind the pain though, it kept him tethered to the spotless hallway instead of far away in his memories, when Jon had taught him how to skate, and let him try his first cigarette, and helped Brandon introduce him to his first girlfriend Ashara.

He remembered, and he regretted; regretted all the emotional and physical distance he had put between himself and Jon, that he hadn’t bothered to reply to a few texts, and the odd invitation to come out for a game of SKATE, that he had stopped making an effort to protect the man he had come to think of as his elder brother. The maze of hallways concluded at a door labelled ‘331’, and Ned hated that this was the last memory he would have of Jon Arryn. The doctor ushered them in, and there he lay. His skin seemed impossibly pale, and the placid smile that was usually stretched across his face was replaced with an expression of serenity. It was awful. Robert immediately began crying again in earnest and Ned couldn’t help but join him; Jon shouldn’t be serene, he should be laughing and kind and as vivid as he was in life.

Ned used his wrist to wipe his eyes, before pulling out his phone.

 **OUTGOING (4:11) Cat <3:** Jon’s gone. Methadone OD. Robert’s a mess. I’m a fucking mess.

Her reply was swift

 **RECEIVED (4:12) Cat <3:** I’ll be there in 5. I have the details for his dad and Alys. Try to hold it together babe, for Robert x

Ned choked back and honest-to-gods sob. He needed Catelyn now more than he could articulate.

 **OUTGOING (4:12) Cat <3:** Thank you, I love you so much

Once the sending was confirmed, he moved to stand next to Robert, at Arryn’s bedside. “I am going to miss you so much.” Robert said quietly, placing a hand over Jon’s pale palm. “You were the closest thing to a true brother I ever had.” In that moment Ned could see the Robert he used to know, beyond the drunkenness and the unignorable weight-gain, he could see the boy who would race him to the end of every street, and share every secret with him. The twelve-year-old he bought his first real board with and the thirteen-year-old he had shared his first beer with, grimacing at the taste and then giggling at the other’s reaction. The fourteen-year-old who had given him his first NOFX CD and the fifteen-year-old he had ripped his first bong alongside.

That was the Robert that Ned had known and had loved like his own family. And before them lay the corpse of their role model, their mentor, the older, wiser brother to their dysfunctional little clan. Ned placed a hand on Robert’s shoulder and they stood there in silence, both shaking a little as they tried to absorb the enormity of what had occurred before them in a matter of hours. Ned’s phone beeped once, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the moment of stillness and check it. How long they were there, Ned couldn’t really specify, standing together as static as Arryn, just trying to comprehend all that they had lost. Then the door opened and the tranquility shattered like a pane of glass.

“Ned?” Catelyn, it was Catelyn’s voice. He spun around and let her embrace him. He sank into the hug, resting his head on her shoulder and breathing in her soothing scent. He couldn’t stop his shoulders shaking slightly as she ran a comforting hand over his back and through his hair, murmuring words of comfort. After a minute he raised his head to look her in the eye. She looked beautiful, as she always did, auburn hair strewn over her shoulders and blue eyes brimming with love and concern. He kissed her quickly on the forehead before wrapping his arms around her again and clutching her tightly.

Behind her filed in Jasper Arryn and Jon’s younger siblings, Alys and Ronnet. Catelyn gently detached from his grip and cupped his damp cheeks with her hands. “Come on, let’s give them some time alone with him.” She urged quietly. Ned nodded and she kissed him chastely before turning to Robert. “Come on Robert, let’s get something warm for you two to drink.” He nodded mutely like Ned and followed her out of the room. She entwined her fingers with Ned’s and led them through the hospital. She was simply dressed, in a pair of jeans which had seen better days and a navy blue cardigan over a CKY shirt which Ned was pretty sure had belonged to him up until a few months ago, and a pair of Vans which were, like the jeans, riddled with holes.

The crisp night air washed over Ned like an icy wave, and he shivered as he watched Robert try to light a crumpled cigarette. “Here.” Catelyn said to him tenderly, handing him a hoodie; another article of clothing he had carelessly left in her room. He pulled it over his head, appreciating the warmth, and looping a trembling arm around Catelyn’s waist as she rolled a cigarette. Robert and Catelyn smoked in silence, Ned sneaking the occasional drag from Cat’s roll-up, as tendrils of sunlight began to wreathe around the horizon. When the respective cigarettes had smouldered to embers then ashes, Catelyn nudged his hip with her own. “C’mon, I borrowed my brother’s car. I’ll give you two a lift home.”

The journey to King’s Landing, where Robert lived, was long and painful. Silent and punctuated only by the occasional chirping of birds; Robert grunted an exhausted thanks before sloping out of the back seat of Brynden Tully’s Chevrolet Aveo. They then doubled back round to Winterfell. “My sister will be going fucking apeshit,” Catelyn explained, “and I am not in the mood for dealing with her insanity right now.”

Ned muttered an affirmative and groped beneath the doormat for the spare key his mother always left out in case of emergencies. They wandered to his room and he shucked off his jeans and sneakers without pretence, collapsing into bed a squeezing his eyes shut like this was all some grotesque dream which would end if he wished it to hard enough. Catelyn slid in beside him and tucked him under the duvet, kissing his cheek tenderly before twisting over to sleep.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and looped one his legs through hers, shuffling closer so they were, by all definitions, cuddling. Ned let himself drift then, into contingencies and things that could have been different, inhaling Catelyn’s sweet scent of lavender and pine and trying not to feel like the face of the earth had been tugged out from under his feet.  



	2. Skating Stark Style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I have been super-lame and left this fic all on it's lonesome for a while; this is a little exposition chapter and I apologise for any non-Throbb fans because it bounces around in this chapter more than a ball in a pinball machine made of mattresses.   
> SHORT PRIMER FOR AGES BECAUSE I'VE BEEN FIDDLING WITH THEM:   
> Brynden Tully, Rodrik Greyjoy: 20  
> Jon Arryn, Maron Greyjoy, Jon Umber: 19  
> Ned Stark, Robert Baratheon, Catelyn Tully, Asha Greyjoy, Sandor Clegane: 18  
> Lysa Tully, Petyr Baelish, Theon Greyjoy, Edmure Tully, Ros, Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Qarl: 17  
> Robb Stark, Jeyne Westerling, Jon Snow, Renly Baratheon, Margaery Tyrell, Tyrion Lannister, Tris Botley: 16  
> Sansa Stark, Loras Tyrell, Joffrey Baratheon: 15  
> Arya Stark: 14  
> Bran Stark: 13  
> Rickon Stark: 8

The thin veneer of clouds that had latticed the sky earlier that day had burned off, revealing a blue sky and the sun blazing a proud arch across the horizon. The late August aromas of cut grass and sweet Summer breeze laced the air, and Robb Stark inhaled it all deep into his lungs as he walked down the long cobbled King’s Road which carved the city in two, leading directly from Winterfell to King’s Landing. 

He led a short procession of his pseudo-siblings, fourteen-year-old Arya followed behind him, dressed in a scruffy pair of jeans, oversized plaid shirt and a baseball cap that was dappled with muddy stains. She walked beside Bran, he was a year younger than Arya but beyond his age in his intense attitude and booksmarts. He was attired in slightly more well to-do garments, wearing beige chino shorts which he kept meticulously clean and a beloved Bon Jovi T-shirt. Like Robb, they carried a skateboard each under of their arms,

Sansa was walking a few paces behind with her dog, Lady, on a leash. Sansa looked a world apart from the rest of her company, wearing a pleated skirt and a pretty cream blouse. They all lived together, in the Winterfell Halfway House for Disadvantaged Teenagers. The only missing housemates were Rickon, a boy of eight who wasn’t allowed to leave the house without Luwin’s company yet, Jon Snow, a moody but golden-hearted young man, who was the only one of the kids who weren’t there of their own volition to not bend the knee to tradition and take the surname of the Brandon ‘The Builder’ Stark, who originally constructed the home. 

Then there was Theon. Theon Greyjoy lived in the house for his own reasons, mostly a tumultuous relationship with his father. He had lived in the far west borough of Pyke until he was eight, but after Balon fell into debt he was shipped off to live elsewhere. After the troubles had ended, Theon had firmly refused to return home into the cold arms of Balon Greyjoy. He and Robb were both sixteen, and had grown up together like a warped combination of best friends and brothers. 

The community was kind to them, the real descendents of Brandon Stark often stopping by and hanging out with them, especially Ned Stark and his girlfriend Catelyn. Robb knew that Jon spent a lot of time with Ned’s little brother Benjen, who seemed an unusual but kindly young man; Jon was slowly but surely immersing himself in the antics of The Night’s Watch, which was from what Robb could tell some kind of bizarre youth collective that was far beyond his understanding. 

For now he walked in silence, appreciating the Summer before it inevitably faded again. His phone quickly blared a clip of Theon’s custom ringtone, that Greyjoy himself had set and Robb had found it too hilarious to change. After the tinny bar of ‘Too Sexy For My Shirt’ had played in it’s entirety he checked the message, along with the two unread that also lingered in his inbox.

**RECEIVED 1:34** Jon S: dude apparently jon arryn died of an OD last nite

**RECEIVED 1:40** Jeyne: Hiya babe, what are you up to today?x

**RECEIVED 1:50** Theon: yo bitch, meet you by the twins? in the mood for a skate :)

Robb was taken aback by the mixed bag of messages he had just received in a sudden slew. 

**OUTGOING 1:51** Jon S: Holy shit, are you serious??

Robb had never know Jon Arryn in a seriously personal way, but he was a good friend of Ned’s and generally well respected. It was bizarre sensation, the kind of second-hand grief that you that stemmed from the loss of an unknown second-uncle or your father’s best friend from elementary school that you never really met. A kind of sorrowful empathy that doesn’t affect you directly but the sympathy is still omnipresent around you, like a soup of melancholy laced with apathy.

**OUTGOING 1:52** Jeyne: Sorry, I’m skating with Theon and the kids today. Wanna see a movie or something tomorrow? x

Jeyne Westerling was a confusing subject for Robb. She was tall and pretty and easy to talk to, everything that he had been taught he should want in a girlfriend. They had been on dates and even kissed a few times, and each and every single time Robb had felt nothing. There was none of the legendary fatal attraction between them, no instant chemistry, just a mutual desire to not be the last kid on the block to go steady with someone.

**OUTGOING 1:53** Theon: Yeah sure man, walking down now. Why were you at The Twins?

If Jeyne Westerling was confusing, Theon Greyjoy was a riddle wrapped in an enigma rolled into a conundrum. Theon was bizarre, brilliant and unbelievably frustrating. Theon could be snarky, and sneering and cruel at his worst, but at his best Theon laughed with all of his mouth and moved with easy grace and would wrap his arms around Robb whenever he felt shitty and let him breathe in the scent of bonfire and pinewood until he fell asleep. 

Robb felt the familiar twist the the pit of his stomach whenever he spent too long contemplating his relationship with Theon; part best friend, part brother, part object of affection and part object of lust. The miasma of uneasiness was broken by his phone chirping again, not Theon’s ringtone this time, which simultaneously made his stomach buoy and heart sink.

**RECEIVED 1:55** Jon S: yh, benj just told me. fuckin sad right?

Robb could concur that it was indeed, fucking sad. He was probably the closest to Ned out of all his siblings and decided he would swing by his house later to offer condolences. He knew from myth and legend that Jon Arryn had been an elder brother figure to both Ned and Robert Baratheon, and whilst Robb didn’t have much time for Robert’s lecherous activities he could understand; he would feel like the weight of the world was on his shoulders if anything disastrous happened to Ned on his watch.

**OUTGOING 1:56** Jon S: For sure, I’ll see you at home later?  
 **OUTGOING 1:56** Ned: Hey brah, I just heard about Arryn. I’m really sorry for your loss x

By the time he had finished his text to Ned, he and his merry band of delinquents had reached The Twins borough. By the time they were midway through the suburban tangle and Sansa had screamed at Arya twice to ‘stop fucking around and ruining my hair’, Robb could see Theon at the crest of the next hill. He always cast a memorable silhouette, all angles and sharp limbs with juxtaposing baggy t-shirt and shockingly tight jeans. He had his board tucked under his arm, and Robb could see molasses of cigarette smoke spooling out of his mouth. 

Robb whistled in greeting, and Theon turned to nod and smile. Only a real smile for a moment, when his eyes were on Robb alone. The real smile showed all of his sharp teeth and his eyes crinkled at the corners, brow furrowing a minute angle. Then his eyes panned onto the rest of the Starks, and the sparks in his eyes glassed over. His lips slid over his teeth to form a smirk. The smile lines around his eyes ironed flat, leaving no evidence they were ever there. It gave Robb a strangely sad but happy feeling, a selfish happiness that he was the only one who saw that beautiful expression grace the face usually twisted by smirks and sneers.

“Ay up Starks.” Theon called in greeting, beginning to meander down the hill to meet the posse of children let by Robb. He held a hand out and Robb grasped it before tugging their bodies together in a quick hug and Robb could feel all the wiry planes of muscle that lined his torso beneath his shirt in the quick embrace. Theon offered a salute to Arya who returned it and stuck out her tongue at him, then a high five to Bran and a wink to Sansa who simply scoffed in reply. 

Theon walked alongside Robb at the head of the pack, tousled hair bowing to the breeze that was picking up the closer they roamed to King’s Landing. The skate park was only a twenty minute walk from Blackwater Bay, the jewel in the crown of the Westeros City coast.   
“So,” Robb began, “did you hear about Jon Arryn?”  
Theon glanced at him bewildered. “No? What’s up? Did that nutjob Lysa Tully finally murder him?”  
Robb never ceased to underestimate how well Theon put his foot in his mouth at almost every opportunity. “Nah. Drugs did, last night.”  
“Shit..” Theon breathed. “Are you serious?”  
“Deadly.” Robb replied, before wincing at his choice of words.  
Theon shrugged. “Bummer, he seemed like a cool dude.”  
Robb nodded, before opting to change the subject. “So, what did you get up to last night around The Twins then?”   
He immediately regretted his words when Theon’s face broke into his other smile, the one that reminded Robb of a shark.   
“Me and Ros got invited to some party by Cat’s sister, it was pretty fun.”  
“..Brynden invited you to a party?”  
Everyone had been calling Brynden Tully ‘The Blackfish’ since eighth grade when he bit the head off a rotten fish in a bet over a new deck; he was almost twenty now, built and a devastatingly adept skater but also still menacing enough to make every kid in the park back off when it came to his turn on the half-pipe. 

“Jesus no,” Theon chuckled, “if The Blackfish looked at me in the eye I’d probably shit pellets for a week. Edmure, her little brother.”   
“Ah I see.” Robb replied succinctly. “What kind of party was it?”  
“An _awesome_ one. Plenty of booze, beats and bongs, then went back to Ros’ place.” Theon waggled his eyebrows around comically and Robb felt a tiny bit sick. 

They trekked up the final hill in the closest Theon came to silence when he wasn’t crushingly upset, Robb listened to him whistle along to his iPod as the gates of the King’s Landing skate park pierced the horizon. The place was already alive with activity, drawing nearer Robb could already identify Loras Tyrell by his flowing golden hair waiting for his turn on the bowl and the sturdy frame of The Hound dismounting the ramp and returning to Joffrey Baratheon’s side. 

Passing through the gates the little group began to splinter apart, Arya immediately darted off to find her friends and Bran trailed after her, looking around for someone to help him perfect his technique on a rail. Sansa darted off in the direction of the skatehut, a fairly large structure where she would no doubt be trying to catch a few minutes alone with Joffrey Baratheon. Robb did not like Joffrey Baratheon as far as he could throw him. He was unpleasant, snotty, spoiled, at times sadistic and above all dreadful at skateboarding, but because he had money and Cersei Lannister doted on him he was hoisted to the echelons of skate park royalty. 

Robb tossed his board down and skated the few metres that separated him and the nearest bank that he could push off into the concrete bowl and practice some tricks that he and Arya had been looking up the night before online. Scoping around he could see a few notable names drifting around the park, Jaime Lannister, twin of Cersei and bearer of the nickname ‘Kingslayer’- he was the only person to ever best Aerys Targeryen in a skate-off. The alias was not affectionate, it turned out that the bearings on Aerys’ trucks were loosened prior to the match and the prime suspect, so thus the one forced to shoulder the blame was Jaime. He was still an impressive skater though, he moved with an elegant grace which few could ever dream of matching; Robb watched him as he wended his way around the ramps to talk to Petyr Baelish, silenced in admiration for such apparently natural talent. 

Petyr Baelish was an enigma to Robb, he had never seen him with or on a skateboard, but had never seen him anywhere but in the skatepark. Theon claimed he was a dealer, and when Robb asked ‘of what?’ Theon had simply replied, ‘of whatever you ask for, dude.’ Baelish was a genius according to some and branded a con artist by others. His reputation was simultaneously stellar, mud and non-existent. He was a shadow on the wall, a supplier of things and a procurer of bets, but never the one to take any heat. 

Robb personally found it all fascinating, but his attention was swiftly claimed elsewhere by a late influx into the park. Gliding through the gates with the grace of a queen and the sultry smile of a harlot was Margaery Tyrell. Head turned so fast Robb feared an epidemic of whiplash as she cruised through the throngs of skateboarders. Close on her heels was her boyfriend, Renly Baratheon. 

He moved with less elegance but much more bravado, shooting wide smiles around to his would-be subjects. Renly was Robert’s little brother, they were bizarre in the way they were exactly the same but in totally opposite manners. They both drank, but Renly did it with high spirits and pizazz that Robert shucked in favour of the ugly combination of misery and belching. They were both dark haired and had beards, but Renly’s was trimmed and coiffed, whilst Robert’s was ragged and unattractive,

Margaery tossed her hair and forewent her admirers in favour of a turn on the ramp, whilst Renly veered off to talk to her little brother Loras. Robb looked past them as he kicked off towards the rail, taking a cautionary glance at the skatehut. Inside holding court was Robert himself, with a brown paper bag no doubt containing a drink he legally couldn’t have. Next to him sat Cersei Lannister. Cersei Lannister was a fearsome woman; her hair was a long and flawless sheen of gold which she wore loose today so it framed her stern brow and the sharp viridian of her eyes. 

She looked bored however, rolling her eyes in syncopation with every time Robert laugh uproariously and gesticulated in a reckless manner. The only other person of merit that Robb could see in that hut was Cersei’s younger brother, Tyrion. Tyrion Lannister could not skateboard, nor play basketball nor fight his younger and inferiors with his fists, because Tyrion Lannister was a dwarf. He caught Robb staring at him a waggled his eyebrows in an accusatory way; how that was possible escaped Robb but it was enough to make him blush and grin a little sheepishly. 

“Hey asshole, you wanna take this fuckin' turn or what?” Theon’s voice distracted Robb from Tyrion, who had crossed his eyes and was pulling faces at Robb in favour of paying attention to the sycophant vying for his approval next to him.   
“Eh? Yeah, sure.”

From atop the ramp, Robb could see the entire political map of Westeros Skate Park spread before him like a quilt; ragged in some places and gilded in others. Kids from each borough pooled together into a chaotic melting pot of teenagers; a hubbub of laughter and egos, of rivalries and friendship, of liars and righteous dudes.

Over in one corner Robb could see Theon’s estranged elder brothers, Maron and Rodrik; muscular and brutish young men with his only sister, Asha. Asha Greyjoy was no great beauty, in fact she was plain, with a flat face and dull grey eyes. She wore and simple t-shirt and baggy jeans which did nothing to accentuate her body, however she made up for all of her aesthetic shortcomings with her talents on a board. She skated like a demon, with her brothers hot on her heels and two other young men trailing behind. Robb knew one of them was called Tris and the other was consistently mocked for his total lack of facial hair.

Close to them in another huddle was Brynden Tully and some of his friends from around The Twins. His brother Edmure was there, the loud, strident and useless juxtaposition to the elder child.

Up in the North corner Robb could see the familiar silhouette of Jon’s wayward hair; a cluster of boys in black were congregated around him and Robb made a mental note to ask him just what exactly the Night’s Watch were doing at the moment besides spreading their graffiti around the town like the plague and looking menacing around the north side of town. Robb knew from urban myth that they had a long-standing grudge against a gang that operated around there, called The Wildlings or The Free Folk depending on who you asked, but they hadn’t been seen active in months.

Robb took his turn on the ramp, sliding down with ease and maintaining his balance before shifting his weight and trying a rock to fakey on the other side of the pipe. He managed it easily and was rewarded with a cheer from Arya and a grin from Theon. The real grin that made Robb feel like his lungs were filled with helium, the smile that was all teeth but no bite.

The exultation of pulling off a trick in his first try almost distracted Robb from his phone vibrating in his pocket, but not quite. He pulled it out and looked at the one new message.

**RECEIVED 2:23** Ned S: It’s been tough, cheers for the kind words tho. I’m coming back to Kings Landing, dude. For Robert’s sake. xx

The world continued to whirl around Robb, the scuffing of wheels on sandstone and catcalling of teenagers incessantly ringing around him didn’t fade, but he did into a miasma of uneasiness: if there was one thing that Robb knew it was that men like Robert Baratheon were toxic; and if Ned wasn’t careful the venom would take him apart and infuse into his bones and blood and soul like an unwieldy virus. Robb began to feel the Earth’s weight bear on him, just a little, the buttery mid-afternoon sun drenching the world in golden tones which reminded him of sand dunes and Lannister hair.


	3. Essos City Skatepark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been such a dick and taken forever to update this; I've had a lot of stuff going on lately but oh well, it's here now and the next instalment shouldn't be nearly as long of a wait. Cheers for all your support dudes x  
> FYI, Jorah is 20, Khal Drogo is 19, Viserys is 17 and Daenerys is 16.

Daenerys Targaryen tried to keep her stance confident as he walked beside her brother through the Essos City Skate Park. If Viserys was nervous he keep it bundled beneath layers of arrogance and his pointed chin which he held poised high in the air. Around them whirled a seething sea of skateboarders, dealers, hangers-on and hangers-off, a huge dusty plateau where tracksuits ripped into designer brands with no concern for the eye or sensibility. On her other side was their neighbour and part-friend-part-protector, Jorah Mormont. Jorah was twenty-one this year, and on instruction from their foster-father was guiding them through the throes and disorder of the park.

“Stay close to me, you idiot.” Viserys muttered in her ear, as he seized her arm and dragged her around a circle of youths crowded around a phone. Daenerys surrendered herself to the vice-like grip that steered her through the rabble and disjointed mass that comprised the park. Essos was bigger than Westeros, and much more impoverished, a place of extremes and the extremely unnerving. 

The milling hordes around them began to thin out as they approached a hut, Daenerys knew from her brothers laborious explanations that this was the seat of power of a park. She self consciously fiddled with the hem of her periwinkle blue top which was tucked into her cargo shorts as Viserys pulled her aside and hissed instructions at her.  
“The guy who basically runs this place, Khal Drogo-”  
“Carl who?”  
“Don’t fucking interrupt, this is a crucial moment for us if we want to seize back what is rightfully ours.” Viserys’ eyes blazed with a manic glow. He had been obsessed with reversing their families banishment from the Westeros city skate park since Dany could remember. Jorah kept his distance, not entangled in their family affairs enough to know what to do. He was a sweet guy, plain and caring towards Dany when he could be without encouraging Viserys’ wrath. 

“I have promised Khal in there that you’ll go on a date with him in return for him giving his support to us in the inter-city skate competition this year.”  
“Viserys! What is he’s a total creep?” Dany whined, she hated when her brother used her as a bargaining chip. She supposed her indigo eyes and snowdrop hued hair looked exotic but this man had never met her before besides maybe a quick coast on her sparse MySpace page.  
“Dany. Do not wake the dragon right now, I swear to fucking Christ.”

Daenerys felt a vague echo of alarm and fear, muted by experience- her brother was mean when he got mad, but he was always kind of mad; he was naturally wound tight and the smallest things could send him into a rage and ‘wake the dragon’. He led her by the shoulders into the hut, it was shaded and numerous teenagers were sprawled across the bench that lined it’s perimeter, laughing and shouting in harsh tones- girls ripping bongs and guys trying to cop a feel as they did so. 

Dany had lived a sheltered life really, with her brother and foster father in a large house with a crimson front door. She barely remembered the short time she had spent in Westeros before her brother Aerys had got himself landed in prison and the rest of their family fleeing shame and social persecution. Their mother had died shortly after their arrival in Essos, and their father several years before in a fire- hence their foster father Illyrio, a prosperous and preposterous man of great humour and berth. 

Hence why the lewd revelry she watched shocked her so, and sitting in the eye of the storm was a built teenager, with long hair chestnut hair tied into a ponytail. Dany pegged him as eighteen or so facially, but his broad chest and densely muscular arms gave him a demeanour of adulthood. He was not the first to notice the intrusion of Viserys and Daenerys, noise dying in their wake as the outsiders stalked to the centre of the hut. 

Viserys cleared his throat inconspicuously, causing the final chords of merriment reverberating around the enclosed place to putter out, leaving a long silence to echo instead.  
“My name is Viserys Targeryen,” he began, either not perturbed or ignorant to the incredulous looks that were being exchanged around him. It was clear no-one else in the hut could believe the audacity of this boy, with his outlandish looks and pretentious blazer, to stand before the congregation of elite skaters and lecture them like an unruly class of elementary school children. Jorah took a deliberate step in front of Dany, which she was grateful for. Jorah was almost an adult now, tall and muscular in a distinctly wiry fashion, and Daenerys felt a vague sense of security now his frame at least in part shielded her from the powder keg that the situation was morphing into. 

“-and I was wondering if any of you could tell me where I can find Khal Drogo at this time of day?” He spoke with a slow, patronising tone which made it clear that in his opinion the people around him were in effect, less than shit beneath his patented chelsea boots. Snorts and unbelieving laughs began to circle around him, trapping him in a tornado of derision, and Daenerys could see his confident demeanour sliding away like water from porcelain.

“You can find him right fucking here, dude.” Rumbled a voice in the midst of the cluster of teenagers, the same man that Daenerys had eyed up upon her entry. “Or, you can’t. Depends on what you want, really.” He stood up, and Daenerys could see his bulk was not limited to his torso- the man was tall and garbed in a grubby Nine Inch Nails shirt, with jeans that were in an even worse state and heavy workman’s boots that had soles clinging on by the barest of threads.

Viserys’ voice pitched up another octave, from pompous to slightly manic as the atmosphere of the room swung from jeering to aggressive. “Well, I’m here with my sister and-” The momentary smell of ozone left the air as the room exploded into laughter and taunting. Daenerys felt eyes rake over her like dull blades, judging, analyzing, as she shifted self-consciously and tried to scoot further behind Jorah. “So this is the Targeryen girl huh?” She heard someone whisper to her left. Dany was taken aback that these people had heard of her, even in the vague rumour-like mist that gossip travelled in. She kept her head down in middle school, speaking when she was spoken to and interacting with a limited pool of people- she was a shy girl at heart, one who disliked confrontation and preferred to read or draw in her spare time. She would sometimes even skateboard when Viserys wasn’t in and Jorah didn’t mind her using his board.

It wasn’t often, but Jorah was always very flattering in his compliments for her talent, and often assured her that with practice she would outstrip Viserys in competency if she practiced a little more- which she didn’t dare do considering his most likely reaction being one of fury and paranoia. He would accuse Dany of trying to usurp him, that she was ‘waking the dragon’, when in reality Viserys was just a fundamentally poor skater. He had all the right looks for it, mussed up long hair, ‘look at me and fuck you’ attitude; but he was chemically all wrong for it, Daenerys had never exactly been able to pin why but he didn’t seem right on a board. Not the same way she did. Like his limbs were conspiring against him to make him look unbalanced and awkward in motion, when he usually moved with an almost feline grace. 

One pair of eyes scalded her more than the others; Khal looked at her slowly, with a smirk that betrayed nothing she could decode. She met his eyes and tried not to look as scared as she felt, taking unexpected comfort from words that Viserys had repeated to her again and again growing up- ‘You are a Targeryen, you have fire and blood in your veins’. She tried to push her shoulders back so she appeared less like she was cowering behind Jorah (which she decidedly was), and lifted her chin a fraction like Viserys always did when he was being haughty or contrary. 

Khal Drogo burst into a booming laugh and walked up to Viserys, in a long, pather-like stride that exuded both confidence and the ability to kick your head in if you played him for a fool. “Oh yeah, the kid who said he would let me date his elusive sister.” Chuckling he thumped Viserys on the shoulder. “Righteous dude,” he looked over to Daenerys without missing a beat. “Pick you up at eight, babe?” 

Dany felt a little demeaned, but said nothing of it and nodded timidly. Of course her first date would be some kind of hare-brained scheme concocted by Viserys- gods forbid she could ever have a vaguely normal life that wasn’t dominated by her brother’s twin demons of idiocy and bad temper. Another roar of assent sounded from the skaters watching this bizarre pantomime of blind-dating. Viserys’ sneer was reaching levels that could rupture a man’s sinuses as Khal removed his hand and lit up a cigarette with a bronze zippo lighter that was probably once impressive, but now tarnished and dull with grime and use. 

“So, about the inter-city skate championship..” Viserys wheedled, conscious that he was rapidly losing the interest of Khal Drogo.  
“Yeah, yeah. I got your back dude. Now fuck off, go skate, or pull that rod outta your ass, or something else productive. You’re killing the vibe.” He replied, flippant to the last as he sucked on his cigarette. Dany watched as Viserys reddened, then puffed out his chest, and she almost sobbed in relief when Jorah moved forward, pulling him by the arm out of the limelight and out into the chalky air of the skate park. 

As soon as the trio were bathed in sunlight, Viserys tore his arm away from Jorah and stalked away in the direction of home. Jorah just sighed and gestured with his head that they should probably follow him, even if it did mean the rest of the afternoon would have to be spent listening to him spit venom about the impudence of the unwashed masses. Daenerys walked in silence, deep in thought. She wasn’t sure what she thought of Mr Khal Drogo- he wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t sure he was her type, and he seemed like a bit of a cocky douche all things said: not quite the savage she had been expecting, but hardly the charming prince who she had envisioned her first date having been with.

The rest of the day oozed by with a gelatinous sense of trepidation and dread, causing every second of every minute to slide by in a viscous trickle of length. That was until seven, when Viserys abandoned his brooding in his room to burst into Daenerys’, She was sitting on her bed, reading a book by Terry Pratchett for the eighteenth time when the peace she had slowly built and fortified around her mind was disintergrated in a moment. 

“Dany, why the fuck aren’t you getting ready?!” He shouted accusingly. “Drogo is picking you up in an hour, you stupid girl.”  
“Getting ready for what?” She asked, lousy with naivety and confusion.  
“For your date of course. What, you thought you were going to go in that? You look like some kind of fucking slum-child, Jesus.” He began to rifle through her closet, assessing the merits of each article of clothing before throwing it on the floor.  
“Viserys!” She exclaimed in dismay and put down her book to demand him to stop damaging her things, some of the things that had been their late mother’s, but when she drew too close he span around alarmingly and grabbed her arm with the kind of force that made her wince and tears threaten to spill down her cheeks. 

“No, Dany. This is important, too important for you to go fucking it up, do you understand me?” She nodded mutely as his fingernails dug deeper into the flesh of her arm. “So, you’re going to get dressed up all pretty, go out with that barbarian prick and no matter what happens, don’t make a fuss. Because if you make a fuss, I will ensure you never make one again.” With the vicious, cold light that flared in his eyes, Daenerys did not doubt he was telling the truth. 

He had put her in hospital once or twice before, with broken ribs and fingers, but he was all she had, so she had dutifully not said a word, put it down to whatever bizarre accident came to mind. Viserys was intent, not in a determined, brave way but in a psychopathic way that made Daenerys scared to sleep in the same house as him sometimes- people were instrumental to him, some more useful than others, but by in large, nothing more than blunt instruments which he could use to achieve his aims, and that included her. 

Daenerys nodded, and he dropped her arm with a snort of disgust and sashayed out of the room. She sniffed for a moment and forced her tears back, glancing at her arm to see the crescent-shaped holes that she had known would inevitably be there, leaking blood in a half-hearted way that made her wonder if her body was as sick of Viserys violence as she was. But she did as he said. She spread mascara evenly across her eyelashes, put on a turquoise skirt that matched a pair of peacock-feather earrings that Jorah’s family had bought her for her last birthday, with a cream vest and a dark cardigan in case the breeze got cold that evening. Finally, after an internal debate she put on a layer of lipstick, plum and pretty to match her eyes and accentuate her pale skin. 

As promised, Khal Drogo’s Chevrolet pickup pulled up outside her house at eight. She was vaguely surprised by his promptness, zipping up a pair of black ankle boots before closing the red door of her home behind her. She felt a vague sense of finality as the door slammed into place, or perhaps it was gravity; whatever it was something in the moment felt odd, like a shift in the world’s axis before it continued on turning regardless of it’s inhabitants. She paused for a moment, before hurrying down the cobbled pathway.

It was all very cliched, the bad-boy with a Chevrolet truck. She slid into the passenger seat and smiled at him in a way she hoped was enamoring; if the date went horrifically, there was a chance things could fall through for Viserys whether she ‘made a fuss’ or not, so she was giving the worst no opportunity to slide in through the cracks of the evening. To her surprise, he smiled back. A little warily perhaps, but there was a warmth in his eyes that was oddly charming.

The car pulled out to the tune of two people who didn’t, or at least did not know if they did have anything in common. Then Khal almost bashfully flicked the radio on; it was some old-time station playing ‘American Pie’ by Don McLean. Daenerys hummed along to chorus absent-mindedly when it came around, and Khal side-eyed her.  
“I didn’t think folk-rock would be your jam,” he said, breaking the silence.  
“I didn’t think it would be yours.” She replied, teasing a little because in Clueless that was what girls did to boys they liked. 

Khal chuckled at her comment, “it’s my jam only in secret. Guilty pleasure I guess.”  
She giggled in return, her heart harbouring hope that maybe the evening wouldn’t be as awful as she had feared. They drove a little further to a 50’s style diner, where Khal rather chivalrously bought her a milkshake and they sat, talking a little at first, then more as the initial awkwardness was shucked. Khal Drogo came across a little gruff at first, but after an hour she knew he loved skateboarding and Soundgarden, but thought glam rock was ‘a load of balls’ and that banana milkshake was his favourite. After ten they headed out and drove down to the beach to watch the sun set into the ocean, and Daenerys felt that maybe she had judged Khal too quickly on his ragged appearance. 

They sat on the rocks and skimmed stones, and between her trying to make the case for David Bowie and him arguing lightheartedly back, he kissed her. Daenerys kissed him back gladly, but as his arm slid around her waist possessively she remembered Viserys’ words. She remembered the crescent-shaped scabs on her arm, and she couldn’t forget the light that burned in his eyes. The sick, mad light that made her sure that someday he would wind up in serious trouble. 

So she didn’t make a fuss when he kissed her, and she didn’t make a fuss when his arm slid around her waist possessively. She didn’t make a fuss as he slid her hands up her turquoise skirt that matched the peacock earrings Jorah’s family had bought for her, and she didn’t make a fuss as she lost her virginity, silently and joylessly as the moon rose, bathing the world in cold light. Daenerys almost laughed at the pathetic fallacy, because even with Khal’s body pressed against hers, all she felt was cold.


	4. Defying Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really starting to love writing this. It's a pretty long chapter, and (still) mostly exposition because the story will really start getting underway in the next few instalments. Thanks for reading and I hope you dig it x

Despite being an unusually precocious thirteen-year-old, Bran Stark was still at the tender and naive stage of life where he was susceptible to loving simple pleasures; he loved skateboarding for example, and he loved that when he got bored of that he could venture into the vast swathe of oak trees surrounding the park and climb onto a high perch or into one of the many makeshift treehouses erected by teenagers over the years and think, despite how much Ned’s girlfriend Cat nagged him about her dangerous it was in her loving maternal way. He loved romping around the house with Arya, and playing chess with Luwin, and X-Men, and when Luwin’s somewhat simple godson Hodor would come to the house and let Bran ride around on his shoulders.

Bran loved reading, and listening to Sansa sing cheesy songs from musicals about being popular and defying gravity. He fiercely loved his puppy Summer, a rambunctious little husky; one of six that he, Ned, Jon, Robb and Theon had found in cardboard box down an alleyway whilst taking a shortcut home after a day of skating. He and Jon had insisted they take the them home, despite Ned’s reluctance and Theon’s derision- but now they all had a puppy and were glad they had bent to his will. All of them with the exception of Theon, who had claimed magnanimously that if he had one then Jon or Rickon would have to go without and he wasn’t sure who would throw the bigger tantrum. Jon often snarked that it was because Theon couldn’t look after himself without Robb’s help, let alone a dog.

Of course he worried as well; Bran worried about global warming, and that Jon was staying out later and later as the summer meandered on. He worried about when he was going to start getting spots, and about when Luwin would get too old to walk around on his own; about how often Theon darted outside for a cigarette and the dangers of lung cancer. 

It was difficult for him to fret about life however when he was with his makeshift family of eight, plus Ned and Catelyn who were siblings to the older three Starks and patriarchal figures to the younger trio. Tonight his whole family were crowded onto two sofas and a carpet to watch a TV showing of Back To The Future; Luwin was in his armchair and Catelyn and Ned sat together on the centre sofa, with Rickon cuddled up to Cat and Arya next to Ned.

Robb and Theon were sprawled on the floor, propping themselves up with cushions and bickering goodnaturedly about who was Marty and who was Doc in their friendship. Bran called dibs on the corner seat of the other sofa, wriggling up to make room for Jon and Sansa. There was an unwritten code to the seating arrangement of Movie Night; Arya and Sansa must not be sat together in case of squabbles, ditto Theon and Jon. Ned and Cat always sat together, and the same went for Robb and Theon. Rickon was at the age where he often asked if Ned and Catelyn were married yet or not, which made Catelyn blush and Ned smile and go a little misty-eyed, and inevitably in response Sansa would coo and Arya would make retching sounds.  
(Bran also remembered the time when Rickon had asked Robb the same question about Theon, which made him go as red as his hair and Theon burst into peals of laughter. Bran thought it spoke volumes how little their reaction differed from Ned and Catelyn’s.)

The movie passed with little ‘bitching and moaning’ as Theon put it, despite Sansa’s constant texting and giggling- which naturally began to irritate Arya immediately and her frustration mounted as the film progressed and Sansa’s giggling didn’t progress into silence. Bran had a mobile himself, it was upstairs in a draw; with a single text message from Jon about whether he wanted margherita or pepperoni pizza and the phone numbers of everyone in the room he was squished into- he was at the golden age where he didn’t understand the need for text messaging and most of his vague school acquaintances didn’t have a phone anyway.

As Doctor Emmett Scott said ‘Great Scott!’ for the ninth time, and for the ninth time Rickon and Theon laughed, Arya began to really lose her rag with Sansa’s phone and it’s incessant beeping.  
“Sansa, could you stop texting for like, one minute? You’re ruining the film.” She snapped, keeping her language PG-13 for Rickon and Luwin’s benefit.  
“Arya could you stop being such a child for like, one minute? You’re ruining my social life” Sansa mimicked back at her.  
“God, it’s not like Joffrey is going to vanish if you don’t text him for an hour. Actually, maybe he would, now that would brilliant. He’s such a twerp Sansa, everyone thinks so.”  
Arya spat back nastily, and half the room tried to cover up their snorts of agreement. 

Sansa gaped around like she was facing a hostile takeover. “He’s actually a really nice guy? You don’t even know him! God!” She stood up and strode out of the room with a disgusted huff at the sacrilegious words of her family. Bran himself was struggling to cover up a laugh; Arya wasn’t wrong about Joffrey being a twerp. Even to Bran he seemed immature and ungrateful to everyone around him- like he deserved the world on a platter all because he was Robert Baratheon’s cousin and Cersei Lannister thought he was precious.

He was rude to everyone, and always cut in front of Bran at the half-pipe even though Bran was a better skater despite his youth. Bran had big plans though; he was small now, but one day he hoped to be the best in the park. It was a dream he had dedicated himself to since he was young enough to stand on a board without toppling over due to the sheer impracticality of a child’s body, (totally top heavy and no good for balance, useless on wheels,) and since then he had worked harder than anyone to be the best, and if not that, then to be better than he was and not stop improving until people were looking at him like he was something prodigious. Like they did to Jaime Lannister and Loras Tyrell. 

After Sansa’s dramatic exit the evening wound up with few theatrics; Cat and Ned said their goodbyes and Rickon was shuffled off to bed by Luwin. Bran stayed up a little later with his elder siblings, joining in on a half-hearted game of poker which Theon inexorably won, despite all of his and Jon’s best efforts. After he grew bored of that, he went upstairs and showered before sliding in pyjamas and going to bed. He had barely read the first ten pages of his X-Men comic before his eyes slid shut and he surrendered to the tug of dreamless sleep.

The next morning was just another wave of the endless tide of summer; the sun peeked through his blinds at the same angle it had done every day since the summer semester had ended two months ago, catching his face and illuminating the back of his eyelids to a brilliant amber which let Bran know it was time to get up. He did so with little resistance, he still had another year or two to go before he started hoarding sleep like a greedy old miser. He wandered downstairs and into the kitchen, a boxy little room that looked like something straight out of a linoleum catalogue from the sixties. Rickon was already awake and being prodded food at by Luwin, although the young boy was staunchly refusing his cereal and was never easily dissuaded from what he wanted. 

Arya was shuffling around the fridge, her hair an anarchic bird’s nest and her expression at a peak of vague grumpiness towards no one in particular except the morning and it’s noisy exploits. Bran would bet money that Sansa was bustling around her room at the moment, either towelling her long auburn locks dry or preparing to get in the shower. The older boys were all probably asleep, with the exception of Theon who was to everyone’s surprise a naturally early riser, or ‘mutant’ as Jon preferred to call him. Sure enough, Theon entered the room a minute after Bran vacated the doorway to join Arya with scowling at the fridge and it’s contents. 

Theon was chipper enough to compensate for the rest of his families’ bleak opinions of the morning, walking in with a spring in his step which made his Joy Division t-shirt look like a farce.  
“Morning all!” He called, Arya wincing at his obnoxiously loud volume and Rickon giving him a pout, trying to incite some kind of hostile takeover against the cereal Luwin was still encouraging him to eat. Theon was still wearing his cotton pyjama pants, which led to the conclusion that he had slept in that shirt, which led Bran to some confusion because he could have sworn that it didn’t belong to Theon, 

“Hey Theon?” He said between pouring orange juice and trying to jam bread in the geriatric toaster.  
“Mhm?”  
“Whose shirt is that?”  
“Oh what, this?” Theon made a pantomime of stretching the shirt out from his torso to look at it, before over-nonchalantly shrugging. “Robb’s, he left it in my room and I guess I put it on last night without thinking.”  
Bran nodded carefully, dodging around Arya to collect his toast whilst she fiddled with the kettle, hissing threats at it for it’s incompetent. He went and sat at the table next to Rickon, who gave him a wide-eyed beseeching look. Bran just huffed and gave him his toast, taking the slowly congealing bowl of Weetabix from Luwin and eating it.  
“See?” Luwin said, relief evident in his tone. “Weetabix is a big-boy food.”  
“Tastes like sad cardboard.” Rickon muttered between shoving dangerously large chunks of toast in his mouth. 

Bran ate slowly, savouring the relative quiet compared to the usual hubbub of his home; not that he would prefer to be anywhere else, but sometimes with all of the teenagers and noise, it all got a little overwhelming. By the time Theon and Arya sat down with mugs of coffee with pretty white eddies of steam curling off them, Luwin had toddled off and Sansa had strode in, by her demeanour obviously still bitter about the altercation of yesterday evening. She dealt with her anger in her usual way, not talking unless spoken to, and when spoken to replying in a clipped, snarky tone. 

Bran gave her a wide berth, as did Theon have the sense to. Arya however was at the top of her antagonising game at ten o’clock in the morning. “Morning.” She called to her elder sister. “How’s Prince Charming?”  
Sansa just tossed her hair and sniffed at Arya’s scorn. “He’s great thank you. Just lovely.”  
“Just an arsehole.” Theon muttered into his mug and Bran couldn’t stifle a snort of laughter that caused Sansa to narrow her eyes at him. Jon then Robb eventually fought the embrace of sleep to come downstairs and fix themselves up breakfast, and Theon had already made Robb a cup of tea the way he liked it, lukewarm with some weird vanilla-smelling tea bag in it, Arya said it was ridiculous but Theon shushed her and then smiled to himself in a way that made Bran think he found Robb’s eccentric tastes endearing. 

After breakfast and no small amount of faffing about, eventually everyone assimilated themselves into some kind of order and began the walk to the park, everyone but Sansa had a skateboard tucked under their arms. She insisted that they take the route through King’s Landing that meant Joffrey could walk the final stretch of the way with them, and Robb agreed on everyone’s behalf to prevent a repeat of the previous night. Arya wasn’t happy about it though, and neither was Bran. They walked most of the way talking and joking around as they usually did, spirits high and talk cheap. Theon and Jon both had a cigarette despite Bran’s chiding, and Robb ruffled his hair in agreement, too distracted by texting to pay much attention.

“Who’re you texting Robb? A pretty lay-deeee?” Arya teased after he narrowly avoided walking into the third lamp post since they had departed Winterfell. Robb shook his head.  
“Just Ned, he’s coming down to the skatepark today.”  
“Seriously?” Jon interjected, flicking his cigarette butt into a drain, “dude I swear he hasn’t come down to the park in like, a year. Maybe more.”  
Robb shrugged. “He thinks that Robert needs his support now than ever, y’know with Arryn gone and their other old buddy Howland off the grid. I think he’s trying to make up for lost time.”

Bran could sense this was heading into ‘grown-up talk’ territory, although Robb, Theon and Jon were only three years older than him, and he fell into step with Arya who was busy sending a text. “What’cha doing?” Bran asked, in a mocking annoying little brother tone.  
“Hmm? Oh, just texting Mycah. We’re gonna go play some basketball tomorrow I think, or maybe something else cool.” Bran nodded, and before he could speak, a squeal from Sansa cut him off as she peeled off from the group to embrace her boyfriend. He wore an Adidas jacket that in Bran’s opinion, made him look like a total douche, along with black skinny jeans and some obnoxious-looking designer sneakers. He hugged her back, and started to walk with her. Bran could tell from the body language alone that Sansa was fawning, and he was posturing. The last thing a kid like that needs, he thought as they entered the park, is an ego-stroking.

Bran huffed with frustration as he bailed on his eighth attempt on a 360 trick. He had assumed that because his 180 technique was damn-near perfect that adding another 180 degrees would be no big deal, but unfortunately he was realising that double the degrees meant double the difficulty. He grabbed his skateboard and vacated the ramp, already exhausted. He grabbed his bottle of Gatorade and hoodie from where he had left it, and sipped at the sun-warmed blue liquid whilst thinking.

He was already exhausted, and the trick just wasn’t clicking with him yet. He resolved that he would go for a walk, maybe a climb, and clear his head for a while before coming back and giving it a ninth try. As he pushed his thumb down on the tip of the bottle to seal it up, Bran felt the creeping sensation he was being observed. Pulling on his hooded sweatshirt despite his body’s protests at the extra heat on his already flushed skin, he swung his eyes around the vicinity of the park. He could see Theon talking to a tall ginger girl (and Robb trying not to glower too obviously in the distance), and Sansa still with that dreadful Baratheon boy, but none of them were paying him any mind. 

Only when he glanced to his left, did he see him. The reason he had felt that bizarre feeling crawling up his spine was a boy, standing only a few metres away. He couldn’t be much older than Bran, and his build was slender and lean. He had a pale, almost sickly tinge to his skin, which contrasted with his tawny hair which was cropped relatively short besides his fringe which dappled the space above his eyebrows. The most striking thing by far though about this strange willowy boy, were his eyes which bored into Bran’s. 

They were an intense mossy-green colour, with flecks of viridian which caught the light hypnotically. Bran stared back, refusing to let himself flinch under the scrutinizing gaze. Time seemed to expand into long molasses, each second passing slower and slower the longer he held eye contact with the stranger, the stranger with eyes that made him think of swamps and vines and everything verdant and green. 

Bran wondered after that if he would have stayed there staring forever unless at that moment, Joffrey Baratheon had walked square into him, knocking him both figuratively and literally.  
“Watch it, brat.” Joffrey sniped, but Bran barely heard him. The connection had shattered like a stem of sugar-glass, and the boy with eyes like a forest had turned away and began moving away from him, after a girl with a mass of curly hair. 

Sansa hurried past Bran after Joffrey, not even giving him a second glance. Bran was suspecting that Arya was right; that boy was toxic and the worst kind of influence for his sweet but naive elder sister. He felt it like a blow in his chest, the way she moved almost through him after that vile boy; Bran felt translucent, invisible, like the song from Chicago that Sansa sang when she was feeling sad- Bran felt like Mr Cellophane. 

He felt it as a personal betrayal, they had all grown up with only each other, a strong, co-dependant pseudo-family unit who had higher loyalty to no-one than each other. Except now, and as Sansa took each step towards Joffrey’s retreating frame, he felt her take a step away from the family they had built. Now he was sure he needed to go somewhere for a think. 

Bran left the skate park for the grove of tremendous oak trees, walking through the lush expanse of green usually calmed him, but now every tone and hue made him think of the odd boy with a fragile frame and haunting eyes. He kept walking though, until he reached near the heart of the vast thicket, to a tree which he knew had a rickety tree house near it’s top.

He began climbing methodically, using the tactile activity to compartmentalise his thoughts. For five branches he would contemplate what to do about Sansa, and for the next five he would ponder the curious boy. This technique helped him think laterally about both matters, and stopped him getting too overwhelmed by one or the other. By the time he could see the umber planks which supported his destination, he was no nearer to a solution on either issue, but his nerves were soothed at least.

From the construction of the treehouse, Bran had to loop his way round to clamber up into the doorway. As he climbed, he thought that maybe he could hear something, or someone maybe up there; but nobody ever came up here but him. The network of treehouses out here were long forgotten by almost everyone who skated around here- their original creators having long grown up and quit skating, maybe got a job or left town for college, but either way they had been in disuse for as long as Bran had known about them.

Hence his shock when he finally hoisted himself into the doorway.

Bran may have been young, but he had grown up with older brothers and the discovery channel, he knew what sex looked like. He immediately recognised the girl on all fours as Cersei Lannister; Robert Baratheon’s girlfriend. This wasn’t particularly shocking to him, Robert was no different to his cousin Joffrey- he treated women as objects that could be doted on and neglected as he saw fit. Bran wouldn’t blame Cersei for seeking attentions elsewhere. The part that made his jaw drop open and his eyes open to the size of dinner plates was the fact that the man who had been thrusting into her with abandon until two or three seconds ago, was Jaime Lannister. Her brother. Her _twin_ in fact. 

Bran froze like a deer in incestuous headlights. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, let alone what to think. Cersei froze too. “He saw us.” She gasped in a strangled tone.  
Jaime pulled out of her quickly, but unlike the other two, didn’t freeze. He crossed the unsteady planks and seized Bran by the scruff of his neck. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” He spat, eyes boring into Bran’s with a frenzied intensity. Bran’s tongue felt like it weighed a tonne. He could barely breathe, let alone speak.

The tension balanced on a knife’s edge for a moment whilst Jaime and his sister exchanged glances. “Quite the little climber aren’t you?” Jaime murmured, his tone suddenly calmer now.  
Bran nodded frantically, not sure what else to do besides surrender himself to Jaime’s grip.  
“How old are you kid?” He asked, in the same soothing voice.  
“Thirteen.” Bran stammered, almost choking on the pressure in his throat. He was confused and scared and overwhelmed. Jaime released him then, and Bran backed off towards the doorway. He would promise not to say anything to anyone, then be on his way, things were going to be fine. Jaime was just looking at Cersei, who was desperately trying to communicate to him with eyes clouded with panic. Bran thought about opening his mouth to speak, but Jaime beat him to it.  
“The things I do for love.”

Bran felt a shove from an arm far stronger than his, then he felt nothing but the wind whistling past him. Gravity working against him, sucking him towards the ground, the branches of trees whipping his legs through his jeans. His mind went almost serenely blank, and he thought he could hear howling for a second, and then cruelly, the refrain of Sansa’s favourite song to sing about ‘defying gravity’. The green boughs above him reminded him of the eyes of a stranger. And then, nothing reminded him of anything, because the world was blank.


End file.
